IN THE SUBMARINE “Q-4”
Nelson couldn’t remember having ever been so glad to see anyone as he
was to see the lad who, his surprise turning to pleasure, thrust a
brown and not over-clean hand toward the bunk. He had been many times
pretty lonesome since leaving the _Wanderer_, and the fact came to him
as he seized the proffered hand and gripped it hard. Martin Townsend’s
laughter rang out gayly as he seated himself precariously on the edge
of the bunk, and Nelson found himself joining in for no very apparent
reason. Somehow, finding Townsend again was like finding an old friend,
even though they had been together but a little over an hour in all
their lives!
What happened after that is easily imagined. Martin took possession
of Nelson and, standing by while he dressed himself in his togs which
were as dry as they were likely to get in an atmosphere that would
have discouraged a hygrometer, and a pair of borrowed boots, and
superintending the process of devouring a tin cup of strange oatmeal
gruel, he afterwards bore him off in the direction of the after battery
compartment which, save for the absence of cooking arrangements was
similar to the corresponding compartment forward. In the central
station Nelson saw Captain Hale and the junior officer, Lieutenant
Morris, both clear-eyed, lean-faced men well under thirty years. It was
the captain who noted them as they passed and spoke to Martin.
“Is this the man we picked up, Townsend?”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Hale looked Nelson over with undisguised interest as the latter
paused and saluted. “What’s your name?” he asked.
Nelson gave the information, and, in reply to further questions,
narrated briefly the story of his adventures. The junior lieutenant
turned from his post at the gyroscopic compass and listened.
“Sounds like a romance to me, my boy,” laughed the captain at the end,
his gray eyes twinkling. “Have you tried it on the marines yet?”
“No, sir, I’ve had no chance,” answered Nelson, smiling.
“Well, I suppose it must be so. You’re pretty good proof of it. But
it beats any story I’ve heard yet in the Navy. You’re a mighty lucky
fellow to get out of a scrape like that. What was it like on the
_Gyandotte_ last night?”
“Pretty rough, sir.”
“I guess it was. You know the _Gyandotte_, George,” he added, turning
to the lieutenant. “Weren’t you on her once?”
“Yes, I was with the _Gyandotte_ five years ago. It was her last
cruise. We thought she wouldn’t hold together to make port. She’s been
overhauled, though, I believe.”
“Hope so. Well, make yourself at home, Troy. Townsend will find you
something to do perhaps. We’ll put you back on your ship when we can,
but I don’t know when we’ll see her again.”
“Thank you, sir.” Nelson followed Martin into the next compartment and
was introduced to two of the crew who were lounging there. Something
in their attitude toward Martin prompted Nelson to ask, as he seated
himself on a bench beside the other: “Are you a petty officer?”
“Surest thing you know, old scout!” Martin laughed. “They made me a
gunner’s mate, third class. Don’t ask me why, though. See that you
treat me properly after this. Now tell me the whole yarn, Troy. What’s
happened to you since I saw you last? Did you see me that day on the
river? Where’s your friend Mason?”
“Mason? Oh, you mean Masters. Billy’s still on the _Wanderer_, I
think. I’d be there yet, too, if it hadn’t been for a piece of luck.”
Whereupon Nelson told of his meeting on the train with the Navy
official and his transfer to the _Gyandotte_. And that led to the
battle off Bermuda with the _Mahlow_. Martin had to have full details
of that encounter and was disappointed by the colossal ignorance
displayed by the narrator. “You see,” explained Nelson, “you don’t have
much chance to watch things, Townsend, on a gun crew. You have your
hands pretty full and you can’t see much, anyhow. At least, you can’t
if you’re shellman, because you’re behind the gun all the time. Most
of what I know about that row came from hearing the other fellows talk
afterwards.”
“It must have been great!” sighed Martin. “Wish I’d been there. Still,
I wouldn’t have had much fun, I guess, since you didn’t try torpedoes
on the Hun. Does the _Gyandotte_ carry tubes?”
“No. How long have you been on this boat?”
“Three weeks. A little over. She’s a dandy, isn’t she? Have you been
over her? Like to look around?”
“Yes, indeed,” responded the other eagerly. “Lieutenant Somebody――the
one with the gruff voice――told a man named Clancy to take me in charge,
and Clancy told me to report to him in the engine room. Maybe I’d
better, eh?”
“Clancy?” laughed the other. “He’s a fine lad to have charge of anyone!
Come on in here and we’ll see him.”
The engine room was the next compartment aft, and they found Clancy
alone there engaged in polishing the bright work of the port engine,
although so far as Nelson could see every inch of brass or copper or
steel was already immaculate.
Clancy’s willingness to be relieved of his responsibility was so
patent as to be almost impolite, and the two boys went on to the after
compartment. Here were the main motors and the auxiliary machinery
of all kinds. Two men were in charge there, a petty officer and an
oiler. The low hum of the motors and the faint, slow churn of the twin
propellers alone broke the silence. Martin explained the mechanism
that was driving the steel cylinder through the depths, once or twice
calling on the electrician for aid. On the surface, Nelson learned, it
was the big Diesel oil-burning engines that supplied the power, but,
since they depended on a large amount of air for their performance,
it was not possible to use them when submerged. When ready to sink
the Diesels were stopped and uncoupled from the shafts and the motors
started. These obtained their energy from storage batteries located
beneath the deck on which they stood. The petty officer in charge
explained the working of the contractor gear by which the control
of the motors is effected in the central station. The main motors
compartment, like every other section of the submarine, was painted
white and was as clean as a Dutch kitchen. The electric bulbs flooded
the place with light. The arching sides were crowded with switchboards
and hung with a confusion of cables and wires.
Returning forward, they passed into the long compartment at that moment
presided over by the diligent Clancy. The two great engines occupied
every bit of space there save for a central passage barely wide enough
to move through. Clancy held forth at length and with enthusiasm on
those engines, but Nelson, whose bent of mind was not mechanical, found
it difficult to understand what was told him. He did get away with one
or two interesting facts, however: as, for instance that the Diesels
burned crude oil instead of kerosene or gasoline, at a vast saving,
and that instead of having the charges in the cylinders ignited by
electric sparks, in the only way he had ever heard of, the engines
produced their own heat for ignition by compression.
“It’s like this,” elaborated Clancy. “These are four cycle engines,
do you see? That is, one of the pistons does four strokes to one
explosion of the charge, two up and two down. Now take this fellow.
When the piston in this cylinder goes down it draws a lot of air into
the cylinder after it. When it goes up again it compresses that air
something fierce; about five hundred pounds to the square inch. That
heats the air, do you see, to something like a thousand degrees. Next
oil is sprayed into the cylinder by compressed air, and when it hits
that hot air already there it lights. That’s what they call combustion,
and that sends the piston down again and turns the shaft over. That’s
the third stroke. The fourth is the next up-stroke and that pushes the
burnt gases out, and there you are!”
Nelson shook his head. “It sounds all right,” he said, “but what makes
the engine start first of all?”
“The storage batteries.”
“And how fast will they drive the boat?”
“Sixteen knots at a pinch, but we usually do twelve on account of using
too much fuel at high speed. You got to think of fuel, you know.”
“I suppose so. And where do you keep that?”
“Everywhere.” Clancy waved a big hand vaguely. “There’s tanks of it
all over. The main tanks are fore and aft, next to the keel, but we’ve
smaller ones here and there. There isn’t any space wasted on one of
these contraptions, Nep.”
“Why did he call you Nep?” asked Martin curiously as they went on.
Nelson explained and his friend chuckled. “That’s not so bad, either.
Guess I’ll have to call you that, too. This we call the after quarters,
but technically it’s the after battery compartment. About half the
storage batteries are underfoot here. You can see the cables leading
forward there. These gratings lift up when you want to get at the
cells. That’s my bunk there. Those cupboards are where we stow our
gear. Next is the central station. Can’t show you around there, though,
for the Old Man doesn’t like us hanging about. Everything’s controlled
from there, you see.”
They paused inside the door and looked through into the next
compartment. There were nine persons there, the captain and first
officer and seven men. It was quite a spacious chamber, as it needed
to be in order to accommodate all those necessary to navigate the
boat under water. A ladder led upward to the conning tower above and
a bench ran along one side, but for the rest the furnishings of the
central station were all mechanical. Dials, valves, gyroscope compass,
manifolds, steering and diving wheels, depth gauges, levers, clinometer
for determining the boat’s inclination, motor controllers, engine
room telegraph, navigating lights, voice pipes and other things were
indicated by Martin. Here was the brain of the craft. Every activity
was controlled from this white-walled, light-flooded chamber and from
it wires and pipes led forward and aft like nerves. Two gunner’s mates
were at the big brass wheels controlling the diving rudders, while in
front of them a gauge indicated the boat’s depth. Their duty, explained
Martin, was to keep the submarine on an even keel, and at the depth
ordered by the navigating officer, by means of the forward and aft
diving rudders. Near them a mechanic presided over the air and water
manifolds of the ballast and trimming tanks. A fourth man was in charge
of the Kingston valves which flooded the main ballast tanks during
submergence. A steersman was at the wheel to the left of the forward
door and two electricians stood by the Number Two periscope ready for
duty. The place was a white vault of shining machinery that made no
noise in which the quiet conversation of the two officers was strangely
distinct.
Martin led the way through to the forward battery compartment where
some half-dozen of the crew were at rest in their bunks or seated about
the table. The cook was busy at the electric range, for the hour, as
Nelson had seen by the clock in the central station, was close on ten.
Martin exchanged remarks with the fellows around the table and led the
way aft to another watertight door. Passing through this, Nelson found
himself in the wireless room, a small compartment at present holding
one man, who, with a telephone receiver strapped to his head, was
listening at the Fessenden Oscillator, or submarine signal apparatus.
The compartment was a maze of wires, meters, switches, coils and other
electrical contrivances. Beyond the wireless room were small staterooms
occupied by the officers. They were tiny bare white-walled cells
containing little more than a bunk, a chest of drawers, a small writing
desk and a lavatory each. Beyond the open door of one Nelson glimpsed
the gruff-voiced first lieutenant who had dubbed him Neptune.
“Here’s where I live when I’m on duty,” said Martin as they passed
through still another door into the bow torpedo compartment. They
were now close to the submarine’s nose and the moisture-studded
roof above was perceptibly nearer their heads. Facing them were
the butts of the four twenty-one-inch torpedo tubes, each a round
white-enameled bulls-eye at first glance. A second look, however,
showed the bulls-eyes to be dish-shaped covers on long, curved hinges
which, as Martin explained, were opened by hand to expose the breeches
for loading. On chocks at each side of the compartment rested eight
torpedoes, which, with those already in the tubes, made twelve in all.
Besides the torpedo tubes the compartment also held the anchor winches,
and Martin showed how the anchor chains could be slipped by a simple
device in case of fouling.
There were two men in there, busy with oiled rags when the visitors
entered. Martin introduced them to Nelson and he received a hearty if
somewhat greasy handshake from each. He found the torpedo compartment
more interesting than any of the others and asked a dozen questions in
as many minutes. Martin was very willing to explain everything, his
mates throwing in helpful interpolations. (It was evident to Nelson
from the way in which these latter viewed him that he was looked on by
the crew of the _Q-4_ as rather a remarkable individual.)
“Here’s the way it’s done,” began Martin. “This tube”――laying a hand
affectionately on one of the breeches――“has a watertight cap at the
outer end of it. It can be opened or closed by turning this little
wheel. When we want to load a tube we close the outer cap first of
all. Then we open this inner cover, like this.” He suited action to
word and Nelson, stooping, peered into the tube which already held a
torpedo. “We roll one of those torpedoes up and slide it in. This cover
is closed again; you see it has a rubber joint here which makes it
watertight. Then――――”
“Prepare for firing, Mart,” suggested one of the others.
“Yes, that’s so. I forgot to say that we remove the safety pin before
we load the torpedo, but you probably know about that. And, of course,
we set the depth gear. That done, we close this inner cover, so. Next
we open this valve which lets in water from the filling tank. There’s
one of these tanks for each tube, and each holds just enough water to
fill in around the torpedo.”
“But why not draw the water from the outside?” asked Nelson.
“Because you’d add about seven hundred pounds of weight to the boat and
start her sinking. You see, you’ve got to maintain the same stability.
When you fill around the torpedo with water from the tank you’re not
taking on any more weight, you’re only shifting it from one place to
another, and without changing its longitudinal position. Get that?”
Nelson nodded.
“Then we open the outer cap and we’re ready for firing. We report
Number One or Two, or whichever it may be, ready over the tube, and the
Old Man just presses a button. Air compressed to a hundred pounds to
the square inch butts in through here behind the torpedo and out she
goes at thirty knots. Simple, what?”
Nelson smiled. “When you know how. But look here, Townsend. After
you’ve shot your first torpedo where do you get water from to fill the
tube around the next one? Your tank’s empty, isn’t it?”
“Right-o! But listen to me, old settler. When your ‘moldie’ leaves the
tube the water flows into it. The weight of that water is only a few
hundred pounds less than the weight of the torpedo and water together
was before. So next thing we do we close the outer cap again. Then we
pump seven hundred pounds of that water back into the filling tank.
After that we blow the rest of the water in the tube into what’s called
the compensating tank. Now, then, we’ve still got the same weight
aboard as we had before we parted with Mr. Torpedo. Do I make myself
plain?”
“Quite, thanks. It――it’s rather wonderful, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s ingenious. I’ll say that much for it. After all the water
is out we open this inner breech again and we’re all ready to slip in
another torpedo. And that’s how _that’s_ done! Jimmy here could have
doped it out better for you, but I guess you’ve got the general idea.
How’s the air, fellows?”
“Getting a bit thick, I’d say,” replied the one alluded to as Jimmy. He
sniffed knowingly and then took a deep breath. “Wonder how it is on the
surface.”
“Blowing like the Old Harry, I guess. When did we dive? I was asleep.”
“About three-twenty, I think it was. We’re good for another fifteen
or sixteen hours yet, but I hope he’ll pop up before that. It’s the
battery smell that gets me. I can taste the stuff already.”
“Can you really stay down as long as he said?” asked Nelson as they
made their way along the passage to the after quarters.
“We can stay down as long as our battery holds out, which at four
knots an hour, about what we’re doing, would be from twenty-two to
twenty-four hours. Anyway, that’s what they say. I was never down more
than four hours until now. As far as the air is concerned, I guess no
one knows how long this tub could stay down. I dare say the air would
hold out about as long as the battery, though. That needn’t worry you,
Nep. We’ll be popping out long before that.”